


Render

by Nununununu



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Don't copy to another site, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Hand & Finger Kink, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, MayThe4th Treat, Multiple Orgasms, Pre-Canon, Robot/Human Relationships, Trust, Wire Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:33:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24029695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nununununu/pseuds/Nununununu
Summary: It’s the only answer that matters really.
Relationships: Cassian Andor/K-2SO
Comments: 23
Kudos: 116
Collections: May the 4th Be With You Star Wars Fanworks Exchange 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whalebone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whalebone/gifts).



> A late treat for Whalebone <3 I'm sorry I couldn't make the deadline, but hope you like it :)
> 
> (Orig posted 06/11, updated for author reveals)

Cassian is shivering.

Not obviously, of course. He’s wearing a thick winter coat, dressed sensibly for the weather – if not sensibly enough. Neither of them had expected their contact to be delayed by four hours or to be caught in a sudden snowstorm seemingly from nowhere, one that even K-2SO’s advanced sensors were unable to predict. The bunker they’re in is providing suboptimal shelter; K-2SO’s chassis is ice cold. After two point six hours, although it will use up his charge faster, he’s forced to reroute fans and vent an increased amount of heat onto his plating in order to reduce the risk of internal damage.

“K-2?” Cassian glances askance at him.

“I hate this planet,” It’s the only answer that matters really, as far as K-2SO is concerned.

It gets a faint smile from Cassian – a minimal deepening of a crease to one side of the man’s mouth.

“You’ve hated everywhere we’ve been so far.”

“Untrue,” K-2SO logs the changing colour of the exposed skin of Cassian’s face for the lack of anything more interesting to do, “I presume you remember that moon composed entirely of mud? I _loathed_ that.”

The complaint makes Cassian’s lips twitch a second time before he resumes the pacing he’s been doing on and off, “It wasn’t _entirely_ mud.”

“Oh yes,” K-2 cast his eyes up to the ceiling of the bunker in imitation of the organic expression, “There were swamp-like areas too.”

“At least you didn’t sink in one,” Cassian, on the other hand, had nearly lost a boot on an accidental misstep before K-2SO had grabbed him by the elbow and pulled. For all the man seemed less likely to flail about generally than other organics, he had grabbed K-2SO’s arm in return for seven seconds and had bumped his knuckles deliberately against the droid’s chestplate upon letting go.

K-2SO still lacks the data to satisfactorily interpret the latter gesture, although the most obvious explanation appears to be gratitude.

Aside from pacing and pretending he’s not shivering, Cassian has done little else during their wait. His one extraneous movement involves tapping a gloved finger against the side of the comm device held ready in one hand. He does this at irregular intervals a random number of times, alternating between his first two fingers with seemingly no pattern to it.

It’s making K-2SO’s predictive algorithms give him _hell_.

“What is _wrong_ with you?”

On Cassian’s fifteenth round of pacing and two hundredth and sixty ninth tap, K-2SO can’t take it anymore. All of the projections he’s found himself running regarding a possible interpretation are just – _ugh_.

“What?” Caught off guard for only the third time in the six months they’ve known each other, Cassian pauses mid-step. He controls his expression of puzzlement quickly, something that’s not quite amusement rising up in its place, and he pretends not to avoid K-2SO’s gaze, “Many things are probably wrong with me.”

There’s a bitterly hollow note to his tone K-2SO doesn’t care for.

“I am not going to debate with you over whether that is true,” He has no time for organic histrionics. Leaning forwards, he places his hand over Cassian’s when the man goes to resume tapping, “Stop. Or pick a pattern. One or the other, I don’t care.”

“Ah,” Cassian looks from K-2SO’s hand up to his faceplate and then back down again, “I wasn’t – It was subconscious. It was bothering you?”

While K-2SO has no organic facial features to work with, he gives Cassian a _look_ nonetheless.

Given the likelihood it won’t be effective, he also readies the command to repeat his optic roll – organics seem to have no trouble understanding that one. Otherwise, for variety, he suspects he will also be able to produce a convincing approximation of a sigh.

But going against K-2SO’s expectations, Cassian understands.

“And that’s my answer,” The man’s amusement is more genuine this time, “I’m sorry; I’ll stop.”

“Good.” There’s a moment in which K-2 goes to remove his hand and Cassian leans after him by a few degrees, chasing the touch. He asserts control over himself swiftly, just as he did his expression.

Looking at him as closely as he is, K-2SO nonetheless identifies a slight loosening of his mouth; a corresponding deepening of his frown.

They both consider their still joined hands.

“You’re warm,” Cassian admits like he doesn’t intend to. He brings his free hand up very slowly and places it on top of K-2SO’s, presumably feeling the increased heat through the material of his gloves.

“I am now,” It is true that K-2SO’s plating has reached a higher temperature, his circuits no longer feeling the strain from before, his vision no longer hampered by alerts, “I was not before.”

“Hm,” The lines between Cassian’s brows grow more noticeable and the corners of his eyes tighten by a few degrees. This is the face K-2SO has come to hypothesise he makes when he wants something but will refuse to ask.

Cassian is still shivering, the involuntary movement shifting his hands in minute increments against K-2SO’s. It ought to be infuriating. K-2SO ought to push him away.

“My chassis is better heated than my hands,” He finds himself saying instead, sliding his hand free from Cassian’s to place it on the man’s shoulder and nudge him into stepping forwards, “I am not offended by the thought of you taking advantage of the warmth.”

This is in direct contrast to the response he would have with any other organic.

Cassian, having stumbled closer to K-2SO on that nudge, contrarily stiffens. The skin around his mouth is white, his lips grey. This near, he must be able to feel the greater warmth emanating from K-2SO’s chestplate and yet he holds himself very still.

“I’m not going to take advantage of you,” His voice is tight.

“Ah,” It seems there are two mistakes K-2SO has made in this scenario, “I should have chosen my wording more carefully.” That is one of them.

The other is that he should have offered his warmth to Cassian from the start.

“Use the opportunity to warm yourself and stop shivering. It’s annoying,” K-2SO informs him, given he predicts the man will respond much better to this.

It isn’t, in fact, annoying, which is perplexing to realise. He’s obliged to make an effort not to inform Cassian of this.

“More or less annoying than my tapping the comm?” Cassian asks in one of the three different tones of voice he adopts when he isn’t sure he wants to know – as opposed to the five different tones he resorts to when he definitely doesn’t. He also shifts in further until he’s standing as near to K-2SO’s chassis as he can get without touching.

At this proximity, it’s impossible for K-2SO to see his expression.

“Significantly less,” He finds it surprisingly gratifying when this makes the man huff and relax somewhat, the set of Cassian’s shoulders lowering beneath the fabric of his coat.

It is – unexpectedly interesting to feel the muscles there loosen beneath the palm of K-2SO’s hand. A stray process has K-2SO wondering how it would feel if Cassian were to remove the obscuring material.

He deletes it as illogical.

Sixty eight percent of his charge as yet remains. If he regulates certain systems and temporarily shuts down several useful but unnecessary subroutines, he can further increase the output of warmth from his vents and still retain enough charge for any predicted outcome to their meeting with the contact, including an episode of violence in which he may be required to defend Cassian, who has a grating tendency to forget the necessity of protecting himself.

“K-2?” A flinch travels through Cassian when K-2SO’s fans pick up greater speed. This isn’t the reaction K-2SO was hoping for, but –

“Thank you,” Cassian says quietly after a long moment passes – two point five two minutes, to be precise – and closes the last of the remaining distance between them to lean his forehead against K-2SO’s chassis.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Includes not especially graphic robotic injury and repair.

“Oh _fuck_ ,” K-2 states –

Then has a moment where he realises what he’s just said and this, combined with what he’s just done to himself, is almost enough to result in a systems stall.

“Hm?” In the pilot’s seat, Cassian just raises an eyebrow that’s mostly mildly surprised, perhaps a portion faintly amused and another portion potentially concerned. K-2’s analytical programming decides to rather rudely inform him that it’s not particularly up to doing things like percentages right now.

The whole thing is immensely disturbing.

“I just did something very stupid,” K-2 admits, because Cassian has so far failed to go into histrionics at his use of an organic swear word – something he has no doubt would have resulted in a lot of drama had they been back at the Rebel base and any other organic overheard. And while K-2 might have a fondness for certain sorts of drama, especially involving explosives, he has a strong aversion to the kind that involves idiot techs demanding access to his hardware and threatening to tamper with his code.

Cassian has proved reliable in preventing such things from happening so far. But K-2 is well aware of the Rebellion’s fondness for memory wipes – a step up, perhaps, from the Empire’s tendency to simply scrap any droids deemed defective, but one he’s not about to thank them for – and the threat to his independence due to such a slip-up could be immense.

The possibility that one day Cassian might deem him too much trouble to deal with is –

“ _Kriff_.”

“K-2, _what_ _happened_?” His concern increasing, Cassian flips the switch to change the controls to autopilot and swivels in his chair to narrow his eyes at the arm K-2 has extended, wrist propped on his knee, “What did you do?”

“You might as well see for yourself,” K-2 gestures bitterly towards the open plating that usually covers his palm, having required the access to perform a more complex repair than the usual upkeep he has grown accustomed to performing upon his chassis. 

It’s not as if he’d been awarded the opportunity to practice while under Imperial control, after all. A droid who attempted to perform self-maintenance outside of orders would have suffered as swift a fate as one who discovered the ability to curse.

“Kriff, that looks –” The premature wrinkles on Cassian’s forehead deepen as he moves to stand to one side of the co-pilot’s seat, his expression growing as close to a grimace as K-2 has witnessed him permit himself when he’s obliged to witness something he would rather not.

For all Cassian seems more inured than many to dealing with the damage that befalls his own fallible body, it seems K-2 should have taken organic squeamishness into account when deciding to conduct the repair in the cockpit. Cassian hadn’t expressed any opinion about it earlier, when K-2 had started the task, but –

Waiting for Cassian to order him out of the cockpit to deal with the mess he’s made of himself elsewhere, it’s difficult for K-2 to repress the temptation to emit an electronic replica of an organic sigh.

“Uncomfortable,” Cassian finishes. Biting his lip, he darts a look up at K-2’s faceplate with dark eyes that are neither disgusted nor pitying, but filled with something that implies empathy.

Why would any organic, even Cassian, feel empathy for a droid?

“It –” K-2’s vocabulator betrays both his surprise and distress over the general situation by letting out a static burst, the words mortifyingly warbling beyond his ability to restore them at first, “It is less than ideal, yes.”

He’d completed the repair. But the tiny sharp-edged pieces of the delicate tool that shattered in his grip lie scattered throughout the inside of his hand, the slightest movement threatening to grind them further in.

The alerts his processors had decided to flood his system with on this happening were so overwhelming in number he’d had to turn them off immediately.

“May I?” Stepping away to retrieve a small handheld light, Cassian waits for K-2’s nod of assent before switching it on, better illuminating the extent of K-2’s blunder, “Shit. It’s even worse than I realised. _Shit_.” His grimace growing, he shoots another look up at the droid, “Kay, this is hardly just ‘less than ideal’.”

“I’m well aware of that,” K-2 prepares himself to be admonished for the mishap. Although –

Although Cassian’s never called him that before.

K-2’s distracted enough from his misery by this increased shortening of his designation that he almost doesn’t process Cassian failing to chide him.

Instead he says almost softly, “It’s painful for you, isn’t it.”

“Whatever makes you think Imperial-made droids can feel pain,” K-2 counters dully, although he _can_ feel it, can’t feel anything _but_ it – every sharp edge pressing against the advanced sensors in his palm, their sensitivity second only to those in his fingers; digging into his wires.

“You can,” Cassian’s reply is quieter than K-2 expects, yet also fierce, some emotion that could be anger there in his voice, “You’re in pain.”

His free hand goes out towards K-2’s shoulder, stopping just before making contact.

It’s entirely unlike him to reach out without apparent purpose. K-2 ducks his head to signal consent, feeling a stir of curiosity despite himself, and Cassian grips down, hard.

He can’t feel it, not in the way he could if Cassian were to do the same to his uninjured hand. But the pressure registers all the same, the intent behind it –

What _is_ Cassian’s intent?

“Will you let me help?” Cassian still sounds uncharacteristically quiet – his concern deepening into worry, although there’s determination there as well, “I don’t doubt you’re capable of doing it yourself, but –”

Yes, but.

In this moment, K-2 can’t claim he feels very capable of doing anything. It had been the smallest of errors, a fractional misapplication of his strength, a mistake made due to a split second of inattention.

One he shouldn’t have made. It shouldn’t have happened. He’d been distracted by –

Now’s not the time to think on that.

“Please help,” K-2’s circuits are aching, coolant system close to giving out as his emotional subroutines threaten time and again to drench his processors with something that feels close to organic descriptions of panic.

“Of course,” Cassian grips even harder for a moment and it’s oddly comforting, oddly grounding, helping K-2 to drag air in through his vents, something rattling deep in his chassis. Whatever Cassian makes of this, it causes him to shift even nearer to K-2, hand travelling up higher on K-2’s shoulder, thumb brushing close to a gap in durasteel plating, “We’ll fix this.”

K-2’s never witnessed him act like this even with his fellow organics, outside of undercover missions where such a demeanour is necessary. Still there’s nothing he can identify that’s false about the man now.

On the contrary, he’s never seen Cassian so unstudied.

“Right,” Drawing back, Cassian collects a number of tools better suited to his smaller organic hands, “This might feel – I’m sorry if anything I do makes it hurt more. If you want to shut down your sensors –”

Anyone else, if they thought of it, would be ordering him to or might even seek to simply override K-2’s systems themselves.

“No,” However unpleasant the pain might be, not knowing what’s happening to his hardware would be worse.

“All right,” Cassian bites his lower lip again, his gaze sharpening as his concentration focuses on K-2’s hand. Perched on the edge of his chair, knees very close to pressing against the droid’s thighs, he works to methodically remove the remains of the broken tool from the exposed innards of K-2’s palm, and to clean and repair the damage done. K-2 can’t help his fingers twitching involuntarily in response to the sensations this creates, optics intent on Cassian’s progress. He’s never –

He’s never experienced anything like this.

Unlike Imperial technicians who used pain as a convenient means of grading work done, Cassian murmurs further apologies under his breath more than once and even comes close to flinching himself, especially when K-2 briefly loses control over his vocabulator before swiftly shutting it down. His free hand comes up during a particularly difficult moment, grasping K-2’s wrist without seeming to notice.

As before, it’s inexplicably comforting.

There’s a faint sheen of sweat on Cassian’s forehead when he pauses to shake strands of hair away from his eyes. Beset by the urge to brush it back, K-2 finds himself considering Cassian, growing unintentionally absorbed in the man himself instead of the work he is doing.

Which is how the problem had occurred in the first place, isn’t it.

“ _Fuck_.”

What is _wrong_ with him?

“Hm?” Blinking, Cassian stills his hands completely – just like K-2 should have – as he glances up at K-2, his lips quirking slightly. Faint amusement again at the curse, easier to discern now K-2 has a previous example to compare it to. “What’s the matter, Kay?”

There –

He said it again.

“Would you use a restraining bolt on me?” K-2 blurts without intending to at all, “Or force a memory wipe?”

“ _What_ ,” Something very like offence flashes through Cassian’s dark eyes, but he removes the tools he’s been using carefully from K-2’s still open hand, placing them down on the console before straightening up on his seat, “Of course not. Or are you talking about in a mission critical situation –”

“If I annoy you beyond what you’re prepared to tolerate,” K-2 interrupts before Cassian can detail exactly when he would, indeed, be willing to resort to these things. Unclenching his good hand to gesture between them, unable to fully explain to himself why it feels so imperative he know this right now, right when Cassian has almost finished fixing the result of his idiocy, “It would be an easy solution for you, really. I’ve been threatened with it on thirty three separate occasions since joining the Alliance –” 

“ _Thirty three_ –?” As furious as K-2’s ever seen him, Cassian reaches out again, catching hold of his uninjured hand. His fingers squeeze K-2’s undamaged plating, the sensors there lighting up with a torrent of new data. It feels – It feels –

It feels good.

K-2 wants more of it. He _wants_ –

More than anything –

More than anything, he wants to know he can trust Cassian. Because he does. He _does_. And that’s quite possibly even more stupid than destroying his own hand.

Ever since he became aware, K-2 has taken pride in his intelligence. He has no idea what’s happened to make him so foolish when it comes to this man. But –

“K-2, _no one_ is ever going to access your memories without your permission or use a restraining bolt on you – not me and not anyone else. I’ll make sure of it,” Cassian pushes up to his feet, leaning in over K-2, close enough that K-2 could easily take hold of his hip and draw him down onto his lap, and –

What is he thinking?

“Do you really think I would do that to you?” There’s distress now, shading the edges of Cassian’s face, “Back when we first met – did you think I would do that to you then?”

“No,” K-2 has to struggle to produce his answer, his fans running even faster than before, alerts overriding his earlier command, filling his vision again before he brusquely cancels them, “No. Cassian. I have no doubt regarding your role in my liberation.”

Cassian had disabled the obedience protocols that enslaved him to the Empire, yes, but K-2 had been responsible for everything else.

“Then what –” Cassian’s so very close. Even closer than before; even closer than back in the bunker, his legs bracketed by K-2’s, his breath elevated by emotion. He shakes his head, “K-2, I don’t know what – You’re my friend.”

K-2 must start in shock, his fingers twitching within Cassian’s grip.

“Kay,” he corrects helplessly even so, before he can stop himself.

“What?” Cassian looks a little lost. A little flushed too, which has never happened before, two faint spots of colour high in his cheeks; perhaps flustered by his own admission.

“Kay,” K-2 insists, realising belatedly that Cassian might have used the appellation without consciously realising it, “You can call me that; I want you to. We’re friends, you said so yourself.”

Cassian’s mouth opens as if he’s going to automatically launch into denial, so K-2 – _Kay_ – tugs his good hand very gently out from Cassian’s to press a finger against the man’s lips.

“ _Cassian_.”

This feels –

“Uh –” His flush deepening intriguingly, Cassian’s expression spasms, crumpling for a brief moment with a mixture of intense emotions far too unfamiliar on his features for Kay to identify.

Then, dragging in a shallow breath in an obvious bid to regain his self-control, he makes himself draw back.

Kay has to issue a movement command twice before his servos concede to let him release the man. The sense of loss is ridiculously disproportionate.

“We should – ah. We really should finish working on your hand and not risk anything else happening to it,” Cassian clears his throat, which –

Well, Kay can’t deny that he has a good point.

And when Cassian glances back up to make eye contact, he’s smiling, “Kay.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut!

“ _Kay_.”

Cassian’s shivering again, but not with cold.

They’re crushed in his tiny cabin, Kay on the floor next to the bed and Cassian with a leg slung over the droid’s, straddling his lap. Kay’s got one hand tucked under the man’s shirt, fingers splayed against the warmth of his back, absorbing the feel of Cassian’s heart beating so fast against his palm; the way he’s gasping; how his body flexes, bowing in towards Kay as he drags his other hand down Cassian’s chest to his stomach.

It’s taken them three years to get to this point. Three years, two months, two weeks and five days since their first meeting; since Cassian first opened Kay up and gave him the choice to control his own programming.

“C-Cassian,” Kay’s vocabulator fractures into multiple tones, fizzing with static as Cassian ducks his head in to mouth at his neck; Cassian’s breath soaking in hot bursts in through the gaps in his plating, tickling his wiring, feeling like it brushes over his core.

“Kay, can I – please – like this –” Power is rushing ever faster through Kay’s circuits, shaking his servos, making him jerk and cry out in startled pleasure when Cassian slips his fingers in under the edge of his chestplate, reaching into what space there is available there and grazing the rim of a sensor he finds.

“Ah! Cassian, yes!”

“It’s all right – it’s all right; I’ve got you,” Cassian kisses his shoulder, his jaw, the place where – if Kay were organic – he would have a mouth. His thumb caresses the sensor, slow, leaving echoes of sensation in its wake; smoothing his other hand down the length of Kay’s arm to wrap around his wrist, Cassian bringing it up from his stomach to mouth at the joint there before moving up to Kay’s palm.

It’s the one he had fixed that time, back when Kay had first looked at him and _longed_.

“Oh, that’s –” Kay loses track of what he’s saying, what he’s even trying to say, speech just pouring out of him when Cassian licks a stripe up his index finger to lap at the tip, manipulating the sensor inside his chestplate more firmly at the same time, “ _Y-yes_ – Cassian, just like that –” He’s never heard himself sound so frantic, “ _Don’t stop_ –”

“Don’t want to stop; not unless you tell me to,” Cassian murmurs against his finger, the vibration of the words sending the advanced haptic sensor there into a frenzy, pressing a kiss to the tip before drawing it into his mouth, making both of them moan, “Kay. _Kay_. You taste so kriffing _good_ –”

“Cassian – Cassian –” As much as Kay wants to keep touching Cassian, the data the man’s creating is close to blocking out everything else, his ability to move deserting him as his awareness narrows down to Cassian’s mouth on him and Cassian’s hand inside his chassis, leaving the sensor there to investigate nearby wires, before returning to rub at it again.

“ _Mm_ ,” Drawing a second finger into his mouth alongside the first, Cassian’s tongue moves against the joints.

Then, glancing up at Kay with eyes gone darker than ever, he sucks.

“ _Oh_ – oh, that feels – that f-feels –” Kay doesn’t get the opportunity to tell Cassian, given all the power in his core feels like it floods out over all of his systems, surging through his wires until his hardware threatens to give out. He just about has the wherewithal to grab Cassian’s hand and pull it out of his chassis, careful even in his extremity not to hurt the man. He’s making noises, wordless sounds he almost doesn’t recognise as coming from himself –

“Oh,” is all Kay can manage, when awareness comes back to him, his optics flickering on to find Cassian perched over him, cupping his face in both hands, looking flushed and rumpled and half beside himself, “Cassian. Can I make you orgasm now?”

“ _Heh_ ,” Hair tumbles into Cassian’s eyes as his hands stir into motion, brushing down to Kay’s shoulders and over his chestplate, seeking out edges and seams, “Yes, you can – if you want to. You can do that.”

“If I want to,” Kay rolls his optics towards the ceiling, even as he produces an electric snort. He doesn’t succeed in sounding quite as dry as he’s aiming for, given one of his hands is eagerly occupied with ridding Cassian of his shirt, while the other undoes the buckle of the man’s belt.

“ _K-Kay_ ,” Cassian spasms, his whole body shuddering when Kay gets his hand into his opened trousers, clutching at the droid’s shoulder as if abruptly experiencing difficulty in keeping himself upright. Kay strokes Cassian’s hip with his fingers, running his thumb along the line of hair that leads down from his navel, circuits thrumming with the joy of discovery and renewed arousal when it makes Cassian tremble and his erection jerk.

“Hah – touch me, Kay – please –” He’s catching hold of Kay’s hand in his own suddenly, drawing Kay’s fingers over to his cock, and Kay’s fans kick up to maximum speed all over again at the feel of it, damp and soft yet hard both at once, and the way it shifts again at his touch as Cassian groans.

“Like that?” Kay curls his fingers around him, even as he uses his other hand to tug Cassian’s trousers and underwear down around his thighs and then off, exposing him and creating more room. He can’t stop looking at Cassian, from the hardness of his cock to the flat plane of his quivering belly, the curls of hair on his chest and the dip at the centre of his clavicle. He tightens his grip gently around Cassian’s cock, sliding his fingers up the length of the shaft, and Cassian whines.

“Kay _– fuck_ – yes, just like that,” His hips are already starting to move, rocking him deeper into Kay’s hand and then away, as Kay smooths his other hand up Cassian’s back to his shoulder and around to trace his clavicle, lightly caressing the arch of his throat.

“Cassian, yes, keep going –” His processors are racing, anxious to record everything about Cassian, about what they’re doing; aching to receive as much of his input as possible. Stroking Cassian’s neck, absorbing the vibration of it as he groans, caressing his jaw and cheek before burying his fingers in the man’s hair, Cassian driving his cock harder into Kay’s other hand as he pants.

“You feel –” Kay finds himself once again struggling to produce coherent speech, his vocabulator fritzing every few words, “Cassian, you feel – I want more of you – I want to make it so you can’t control yourself – to make you feel as good as you made me feel.”

He hastens his hand around Cassian’s cock as he speaks, matching the man’s thrusts, cataloguing every part of Cassian’s expression, the way he flings his other hand up to catch onto Kay’s chassis, thighs shaking as he gives over control.

“Kriff,” His flush darkens his skin from his cheeks to his chest, a shimmer of sweat dampening his forehead and the roots of his hair, teeth abusing his lip, “Kay, _you are_ –”

Movement subroutines initiate nearly of their own accord and Kay’s resting his free hand on Cassian’s lower back to keep him in place as he pushes upwards, angling the pair of them as best he can in the small space available, lifting Cassian and turning him over until he’s on his back on the floor, Kay looming over him, never slowing or stopping the rhythm of his other hand.

What little composure Cassian has left scatters immediately, arching his back as he cries out, knees falling open wider as he scrabbles at Kay’s shoulders, trying to urge the droid even closer, “Kay! I – _fuck_ – oh, we –” His brow crinkles with sudden urgency, “We need to – shit – your plating –”

“It’s all right,” Collecting up one of Cassian’s hands, Kay bows his head to press the housing of his vocabulator against the man’s fingers, pumping his cock yet more firmly, his fans stuttering as it surges in his grip, “Cassian –”

“ _Hah_ ,” Cassian launches himself half-upwards, slinging an arm around Kay’s neck and clinging, his entire body going rigid as he comes. Kay presses the man’s cock gently against his stomach, feeling it pulse while Cassian gasps so hard he almost chokes.

“There,” Kay announces when Cassian’s collapsed back onto the floor, his chest heaving. He strokes his fingertips smugly through the mess there, “Crisis averted.”

His forehead wrinkling all over again, Cassian opens his eyes to shoot a look at Kay’s chassis and then down at his own body, and breaks into enough laughter he seems to startle himself, “Good thinking.”

“If I’d known that was all it took to make you laugh, I’d have done it years ago,” Kay informs him, emotion pinging through his circuits when something vulnerable and unguarded fills Cassian’s gaze.

“Kiss me?” He lifts his head to Kay’s other hand, mouth unerringly locating the sensitive sensors there, and Kay groans.

“ _Yes_ – Cassian –” He lets his fingers learn the shape of Cassian’s upper lip, that often bitten lower one, slipping inside to find his tongue, Cassian’s eyes dark on his as he hollows his cheeks to suck, “ _Oh_ –” 

It’s quite possible he could overload again just like this, especially if Cassian –

“This?” Cassian brings both hands up around Kay’s, thumbs caressing his palm, rubbing at the hidden places where it opens up to allow access, “Kay, do you want me to – may I, _inside_ –”

“Please do,” The anticipation that comes with issuing the command to loosen the plating there is almost enough in itself to make certain of Kay’s servos feel like they’re going to give way, “Fuck. Just a moment.” He swiftly locks certain joints, “I need – I need to know I’m not going to – to crush you if we’re staying in this position.”

“Don’t go anywhere,” Cassian pulls off his fingers just enough to say, before drawing them back in, “I _like_ you above me.”

The fact he admits this, compounded with the brush of his thumb over a cluster of wires, circling the sensors he took such care over back when Kay was in so much pain –

Kay is hard put to cancel power to his optics in time to keep them from dazzling Cassian at the rush of power to all his working parts, vocabulator fracturing into multiple registers, crying out in numerous languages at once, synthetic and organic, all of them various words of want, interspersed with iterations of Cassian’s name.

The power surge is enough to wipe him out completely this time, systems shutting down, the soft reset bringing with it a sensation of buoyant contentment stronger than any he’s ever known.

“All right?” Cassian’s gaze is on Kay’s faceplate when his optics come back on, his systems slower to respond this time.

“ _Very_ ,” Kay agrees, unlocking his joints so he can stroke Cassian’s hair and then his cheekbone, tracing over his lips, “Cassian.” He lets his gaze track downwards, appreciating it when Cassian twitches and doesn’t immediately prevent himself, unable to keep still under the inspection. His cock is half-hard against his thigh. “You appear to be aroused again. I would like to continue, if you are amenable.”

“If I’m amenable,” Cassian snorts in much the manner that Kay did earlier, and hooks his arm around Kay’s neck again, doing his utmost to pull the droid down, “Kay –”

“Yes?” Kay lets Cassian manoeuvre him until they’re touching as much as possible, Cassian’s knees bracketing his hips, resting a very careful fraction of his weight against the man, relishing it when Cassian groans, “I’m locking myself into position again, if you agree.”

Cassian, this way, will be thoroughly trapped.

“Oh I agree,” He’s laughing once more, dark eyes bright and skin freshly flushed, clever fingers already taking advantage of the proximity to seek out new gaps in Kay’s chassis, places where new wires wait inside for his touch, “ _Kay_. You can do anything you want with me.”

Kay’s vocabulator blurs with static as Cassian licks at the fingers still exploring his mouth, but –

“The feeling’s mutual,” He succeeds, with some effort, in getting out –

And it really is.


End file.
